


She wore a star-shaped tambourine

by Ferrera



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: Angst, Feminization, M/M, Sibling Incest, warning added for mentions of underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: When you’d seen the star-shaped, shiny white tambourine at a store while you were looking for a new guitar, you'd thought of him immediately. It was the perfect little toy for your pretty little brother to play with. You'd meant it as kind of a joke, really, and you'd kind of expected him to twat you over the head with it as you told him,there you go, a shiny rattling toy for my pretty baby brother, but his eyes had lit up, glittering like a child’s on Christmas day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello I've been working on this since September but I just can't seem to finish it. I'm posting the first part now to push myself to finish the damn thing before Christmas. It's pretty much a prologue to at least 6,000 words of pure filth that will (hopefully) follow.
> 
> Set somewhere early 1994.

  
  
Your mam still likes to tell stories of how you'd actually wanted a little sister instead of a baby brother.  
  
  
You swear you can see Liam blushing a little whenever your mam tells the family at birthdays, Easter Sundays and over Christmas dinners how you used to treat him as your baby doll, feeding and bathing him, combing his hair, dressing him up; how you’d put ribbons in his hair and paint his tiny fingernails with your mam's only bottle of nail polish; how you'd wanted to take him with you wherever you went.  
  
  
You still like to think of him like that, occasionally, still like to think of him as your little sister. God knows he's pretty enough.  
  
  
When you’d seen the star-shaped, shiny white tambourine at a store while you were looking for a new guitar, you'd thought of him immediately. It was the perfect little toy for your pretty little brother to play with. You'd meant it as kind of a joke, really, and you'd kind of expected him to twat you over the head with it as you told him, _there you go, a shiny rattling toy for my pretty baby brother_ , but his eyes had lit up, glittering like a child’s on Christmas day.  
  
  
You hadn't been thinking about him like that on stage, though. He'd been singing like a goddamn angel and shaking that tambourine, his eyes closed, thick lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones and his full lips pressed to the microphone and you'd proudly thought _that’s my pretty little bother singing his goddamn heart out_ all right, but you hadn't been thinking about him like _that_ , of pushing him back into the role of your little sister like you used to. He'd still been wearing his trousers then.  
  
  
The lads still like to tease him about the tambourine, constantly joking about him needing to learn to play a proper instrument, going on and on about it being an instrument for kids, for girls. You’d have bought one in pink if they’d had one, but he’s already the subject to their ridicule enough as it is. To your satisfaction, that doesn’t keep him from playing it.  
  
  
He's still toying with it now, twirling it in his hand and occasionally slapping it against his bare thigh. You're sitting backstage, sweaty and sated and high from the gig, and Liam's not wearing any trousers. Towards the end, he'd started to pick a fight, threatening go smack some guy in the face with the goddamn tambourine, and instead he'd gotten a pint of beer thrown at him, wetting his trousers. He'd still been wearing them when the lot of you had sat down here, but when you'd told him he looked as if he'd fucking pissed himself, he'd said, _what, d'you want me to take them off, then_ , and before you could come up with some witty reply, he'd already unzipped and pushed them down his thighs.  
  
  
You'd tried not to stare all too hungrily then and you're still trying now, but it's hard to keep up a proper conversation with the other lads while he's sitting there in nothing but his briefs and a knitted v-neck sweater which is at least two sizes too big for him, the sleeves covering his knuckles and the hem only just falling over his crotch.  
  
  
He's got a beer in one hand and the tambourine in the other, holding it with his hand wrapped in his sleeve, toying with it absent-mindedly. He's a bit far away the way he always is after a gig, all spread out over the couch, eyes hazy as he stares into nowhere as he taps the tambourine against his bare thigh.  
  
  
You're trying not to stare, but it's damn hard not to when his thighs are spread like that and he looks all fucked out, sweaty strands of hair clinging to his temples and cheekbones, plush lips slightly parted, pink tongue darting out to lick them every now and then. If it was just the two of you, you’d be all over him already, roam your hands over his bare thighs and up that sweater, kneading his arse, feeling him up.  
  
  
“What you lookin' at, then,” Liam says suddenly, smirking at you, and you're snapped out of your trail of thoughts. He’s caught you and he knows it, staring at you with just a hint of a smug smile tugging at his lips, but other than that, he looks his usual placid self.  
  
  
“Well?” he says when you fail to come up with a proper answer, spreading his thighs a little wider and pushing his hips up in a way that would probably have the lads thinking he’s taking the piss, but you know he’s being nothing but plain suggestive.  
  
  
You _know_ rationally it’d be better not to, but you’re not going to back down from a challenge like this, still too goddamn high on booze, drugs and pure adrenaline from the gig, itching to make him blush bright pink in front of the lads.  
  
  
“Be a good girl and keep your legs closed, eh.”  
  
  
You see him swallow at your words but his face remains perfectly placid. He's still tapping the tambourine against his thigh in a steady rhythm and you know he’s trying not to look even the slightest bit affected by your words.  
  
  
“Bet you fuckin' like what you see.” He licks his lips and smirks. Alarm bells go off in your head and you take a quick glance at the others. Bonehead and Tony are in a vivid conversation about god knows what, but Guigsy's looking from Liam to you and back like he’s trying to figure out what the two of you are playing at. You know you should just drop it and change the goddamn subject before taking it too far in front of the lads, but Liam’s got you all worked up already and you really fucking need to have the last say.  
  
  
“Fuckin' slag you are, showin' us your knickers like that.”  
  
  
Bonehead and Tony look up as well then, and you're unable to hide your smug smile as Liam misses a beat, messing up the steady rhythm he had going with the damn tambourine. He looks a bit startled by your words and the sudden attention to his bare thighs they caused, cheeks slightly flushed. It's rather satisfying to see him squirming a little under your collective gazes.  
  
  
“You’re being well rude, eyeing me up like that,” he says eventually, sounding all bold, but he tugs the fabric of the sweater down a little anyway. Your jaw clenches, mouth running dry and your hands are itching. You rub them over your denim-clad thighs, but you kind of want to take a pillow and stuff Liam's face with it so he shuts the fuck up, before he makes you say something you’ll regret.  
  
  
“Nothing there I haven’t seen before,” you counter, then bite your tongue, wishing one of the lads would make some goddamn joke already, before everything gets out of hand, but they’re just staring back and forth between the two of you and you curse yourself for getting the both of you so worked up.  
  
  
“You gonna pull that dress up and give the lads a proper look as well?”  
  
  
Liam truly flushes bright pink at that.  
  
  
“Cut it out, will ya,” he mutters, jaw clenched tight, “’mnot a goddamn bird, all right.”  
  
  
You’d love to argue, but you’ve really said too much already and you swallow back all the words on the tip of your tongue.  
  
  
“Told you shaking the tambourine’s for birds,” Tony says eventually, filling the thick silence. _Shaking_ , he always says, doesn’t consider the tambourine a proper instrument, the smug bastard.   
  
  
“Robert Plant plays the fucking tambourine,” Liam protests, stubbornly tapping the tambourine against his thigh, and you can't help but smile at the way he looks rather indignant.  
  
  
“That’s what I’m saying,” Tony counters. The lads break out in laughter and Liam huffs. He looks at you expectantly, eyes saying _you fucking started this,_ waiting for you to back him up. You only smirk at him, refraining yourself from winking, instead averting your eyes.  
  
  
McGee comes by and you discuss the gig for a while, but Liam doesn’t join in, still tapping the star-shaped instrument against his thigh, pouting petulantly. He’s stealing glances at you occasionally and you’re trying to ignore him, but it’s goddamn hard, the way he's fishing for your attention, biting his lower lip in that goddamn fake casual way of his as he succeeds in holding your gaze, tapping the tambourine in an agonisingly slow rhythm against the inside of his thigh. Now that he's not the butt of a joke anymore, he's his usual confident self again, eager to rile you up. His eyes are gleaming, fucking begging you to feel him right up under that dress-like sweater and you helplessly rub your sweaty hands over your jeans in a poor attempt to get a grip on yourself, but you’re fucking aching to push him over on his knees and make him suck your cock right in front of the lads.  
  
  
_You just wait_ , you mouth at him, everything glowing red-hot inside of you as he looks back at you with pleading eyes. _You just wait._  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
The lads have fucked off to the nearest pub.  
  
  
You’d told them there was this song you wanted to work on and that you needed Liam to come with you to see if he could reach the higher notes. Fucking shit excuse, but Guigsy and Bonehead were too far gone already to even consider it’d be no use asking Liam to try for you now, not with his voice all hoarse after he’d sang his little heart out on stage. Tony had shot you a rather sceptical look, though, and you’d made a mental note to throw him out of the band before he’s going to find out what’s going on between the two of you.  
  
  
Liam’s standing in your hotel room in nothing but the sweater now, the neck loose, exposing his collarbones, the hem only just reaching the tops of his thighs. He’d put his trousers back on when the lot of you had left the venue, but only after you’d whispered in his ear _fuckin’ put your trousers back on, I’m not fuckin’ having strangers gettin’ a glimpse of your goddamn knickers, all right._ You’d tugged them back down his legs as soon as you’d gotten him up against the door of your room, though. He’d been fucking whimpering when you had pulled his briefs off but told him he’d be keeping that dress-like sweater on, _be a good girl for me, yeah, be my good little girl and do what I say.  
  
  
_ You’re drinking in the sight of him, your eyes shamelessly roaming over his body, and he’s staring right back, confident and challenging. You’ve always slightly envied the way he seems to feel so comfortable in his body, always so cocksure, so goddamn full of himself, and you’re fucking _aching_ to make him blush like a shy little girl, to see him writhing and squirming under your gaze.  
  
  
“Fuckin’ thrills you, right, gettin’ me all worked up in front of the lads,” you hiss, still eyeing him up. Liam raises an eyebrow, a pleased little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
  
  
“You fuckin’ liked it,” he counters, “fuckin’ love to see me whoring meself out for you.” He’s got the fucking dirtiest little mouth but he ducks his head all shyly, looking at you from under his fluttering eyelashes, all faked innocence, his eyes glittering mischievously in the dim light.  
  
  
You step closer and grab his waist, turning him around. He lets you easily, even cants his hips a little to give you a better view, the little slag. The knitted sweater is barely covering his arse. You swallow hard at the sight of it, your hands itching to touch, but you keep them by your side as you watch him.  
  
  
“Fuckin’ slag you are, wearin’ a dress this short.”  
  
  
Liam’s breath hitches at your words, giving you a glimpse of what you could get out of this tonight and your pulse quickens in anticipation, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You slip an arm around his waist and pull him closer, his back pressed to your chest, the swell of his arse fitting perfectly against your dick.  
  
  
“Gonna be a good girl for me?” you murmur in his ear as you slide a hand up his thigh, slowly rubbing the soft skin just below the hem of the sweater. Liam’s head falls back against your shoulder as he lets out a high-pitched whimper, and even though you suspect he’s acting it up a bit, the sound of it goes straight to your dick. You buck your hips a little, making sure he feels your half-hard dick through all the layers of clothing. He moans at the contact, his pretty plush mouth falling open and you can’t take your eyes off his face, mesmerized by the beauty of your baby brother.  
  
  
You cup the side of his face, brushing his cheek with your thumb. He’s perfectly clean-shaven, must’ve done it before the gig, his cheeks and chin so smooth against your rough palm. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering prettily as you slowly rub the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. His lips are all red and swollen from where he’s been biting them, mouth open and wet like a shiny fresh gash. You clutch your hand in his hair and pull his head back a little, kissing him hard. He whimpers into your mouth, eager, needy little sounds that send shivers down your spine and fill you with pure bliss. There’s nothing you love more than kissing your brother, nothing more satisfying than the whiny, greedy sounds he makes, clammy hands clutching desperately at your clothes, pulling you closer, nothing better than the way he can get perfectly pliant under your mouth.  
  
  
It had started when he was still so goddamn young, seven, eight at most, sitting on your lap while you combed his soft hair after you’d bathed him. He had looked so damn cute with his pink lips and his soft rosy cheeks and his gleaming blue eyes, so much sweeter than the girls at school. You knew you weren’t supposed to kiss him anymore, but you still leaned in, pressing your mouth to his slightly-parted lips.  
  
  
You’d pampered him in kisses when he was a baby, still had when he was a toddler— chaste, fleeting kisses on his cheeks and forehead and his little nose to show him just how much you loved him, but this was different— not as innocent as it used to be and lasting entirely too long, the weight of the world came crashing down on you in that exact moment and still you hadn’t wanted to pull back. He’d pressed his little hands to his mouth as he tried to smother his giggles afterwards, pink cheeks all bunched up, his eyes glistening as if you’d told him a secret and god, you’d been so fucking gone on him even back then.  
  
  
“Gonna let me feel you up?” you murmur, your voice low and rough as you rub over the smooth skin just below the folds of his arse, “gonna let me finger your cunt?”  
  
  
Liam honest to god gasps, cheeks flushing deep pink and it dawns on you that he’s not acting it up, you really got him fucking blushing and fidgeting the way you could so easily when he was still a kid.  
  
  
Your mam isn’t exaggerating the slightest bit when she tells those stories of you treating Liam as your little sister. Long before that first kiss you used to dress him up in your t-shirts, so big they looked like proper dresses on him. You would put cute pink ribbons in his hair and you’d walk with him around town, telling everyone who’d stop and stare _this is my little sister, doesn’t she look neat_? and he would blush so prettily at the gaze of strangers.  
  
  
“You gonna let me, baby doll? Let me push my fingers inside, get you all nice and wet for me?”  
  
  
“ _Noel_ , fuck,” Liam whimpers, like you’re not supposed so say such a thing, muttering just as shyly as he did back then, _Noely, ‘mnot a girl, y’know I haven’t got—  
  
  
_ He turns his face to your neck, his open mouth wet against your skin. Strands of dark hair are sticking to his sweaty forehead, making you itch to have him sitting on your lap like he used to after you’d bathed him, combing his hair, getting him ready for bed, his skin still warm and a little pink from the hot water. He would smell so fucking sweet from the cheap artificial soap, like vanilla ice cream and freshly-baked biscuits, making your mouth water, eager for a taste.  
  
  
You brush the strands of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his cheekbone, tongue flicking across his skin. He tastes and smells nothing like the freshly bathed kid from your memories, instead like cigarettes, beer and sweat. It doesn’t make you want him any less. You slide your hands down his back greedily and tug the fabric of the sweater up so it’s bunched up just above the swell of his arse.  
  
  
“Gotta get me hard for you, eh,” you murmur as you grip his hips and pull him to your crotch, rubbing your half-hard dick against the swell of his bare arse.  
  
  
“Fuckin’ got you hard already just showin’ you me knickers,” Liam hisses, but he pushes his arse back against you anyway, slowly grinding against your crotch.  
  
  
“Don’t be cheeky,” you groan, “bet we can find a better use for that filthy mouth of yours.” You slide a hand up his throat and rub your calloused thumb over his lower lip teasingly. “You gonna get down on your knees for me? Suck me off with that pretty pink mouth of yours?”  
  
  
“You wish,” Liam hisses stubbornly, but his flush deepens, spreading all the way down his neck, and his hands clutch at the hem of your shirt as he keeps rubbing his arse against you needily, reminding you of when he was a skinny fourteen-year-old, still looking like an innocent kid but he already spread his legs wide for you, begging for you to fuck him. It had taken all your willpower not to fuck him then, to keep him satisfied with your index and middle finger deep inside him, telling him _we gotta wait, kid, gotta wait ‘til you’re sixteen_ as if you weren’t going to be burning in hell already.  
  
  
“What do you want, then, baby girl,” you murmur in his ear, hands on his arse, spreading his cheeks a little so you can slot the swell of your dick perfectly along his cleft.  
  
  
“ _Noel_ ,” he whines, then swears and mutters under his breath. You’re not going to take his high-pitched whines and incoherent blabbering for an answer, as thrilling as they are. He’s not shy, fucking far from it— he’s fucking shameless, got a goddamn dirty mouth on him and he can tell you what he wants just fine.  
  
  
You draw your mouth away from him, your hands leaving his bare skin. You take a few steps back and sit down on the end of the bed, leaning back on your arms. He looks at you with questioning, bashful eyes, tugging the sweater back down so his dick and arse are covered again. Just the sight of him, looking all sweet and innocent, is enough to get you hard. You spread your legs a little so he can see your dick filling out against the fabric of your trousers, adrenaline rushing through you as his eyes rest on your crotch, watching you get hard for him.  
  
  
“That’s all for you,” you murmur, palming yourself a little through the fabric of your trousers. Liam’s eyes are gleaming and his lips are slightly parted as he stares at your dick, looking almost transfixed.  
  
  
“Come on, don’t be shy,” you coax, “be a good little girl, come sit on my lap and tell me what you want.”  
  
  
Liam hesitates a little, adjusts the sweater, pulls it up where it’s about to slip off his bare shoulder, then has to tug the hem back down so it’s properly covering his crotch again. His hesitation, just the hint of unsureness makes your heart ache a little and your skin feel too tight. He comes up to you slowly, fingers tucked into the sleeves of the sweater. He straddles your thighs and you can’t suppress a smile as the fabric of the sweater creeps right up again. You kiss his jaw softly as he wraps his sleeve-covered hands around your neck, the knitted fabric itching against your skin.  
  
  
The weight of him against your dick feels fucking heavenly but still you wish he were a little smaller, a little easier for you to carry around and push about. Wish you could still bathe and nurture him, dress him up all prettily, shape and mould him a little, make him your good little girl again.  
  
  
He looks sweet enough, though, looking so small in that oversized sweater, so vulnerable with his bare thighs spread over yours. Just thinking back to the time when Liam had been so fucking young and eager makes your dick twitch inside your trousers, precome dampening fabric of your briefs.  
  
  
You hadn’t been able to wait until he turned sixteen— there’s only so much begging you can resist, only so much you can deny your needy little brother, but he’s perfectly still in your lap now, patiently waiting for you, leaving it up to you were you’re heading. You run your hands down his back and palm his arse through the fabric of the sweater. He sighs softly, but he stays still like a good girl, only the way his fingers twitch a little against your neck giving away his impatience. You spread your legs a little to force his thighs further apart, causing the fabric of the sweater to crawl up even higher. You cup his arse and Liam moans softly as your fingers skitter down his cleft.  
  
  
“You gonna tell me what you want, baby doll?”  
  
  
Liam buries his face in the crook of your neck and whimpers softly, dragging his wet lips across your skin. His dick is still covered by the fabric of the sweater but you can feel how hard he is, pressed firmly against your stomach.  
  
  
“C’mon, baby, don’t be shy,” you murmur, your hands back on his thighs, rubbing them softly. “You were fucking shameless back at the venue, showin’ the lads your knickers like that.”  
  
  
It still makes your stomach tighten and your blood boil a little, the way he sat there with his legs spread wide for the lads to see while you couldn’t show them who he belonged to.  
  
  
“Was just for you,” Liam mutters against your throat, arms tightening around your neck. It’s sickening how bad you need to hear those words from him, fucking pathetic how bad you need him to show you wants no-one but you. He’d been trying to rile you up all night, done nothing but teasing, fucking thriving on the pushing and pulling back and forth, but all the resistance is gone now and you’ve finally got him how you want him, needy, pliable and all yours.  
  
  
It calms you only a little. That restless, predatory feeling of possessiveness never quite goes away. Love bites in his neck and bruises in the shape of your fingertips on his hips and thighs are never enough to mark him, not when no-one knows they were caused by you. You’d ask him to show the whole goddamn world he’s yours and maybe then it’d be enough, but they’d bring the both of you to ruin, rip you apart, destroy everything you’ve ever built between you, and you couldn’t stand to see him torn to pieces, couldn’t stand losing him.  
  
  
You wind a hand in his hair and pull his head back a little so you can see his eyes. He looks as if he’s all drugged up, hazy eyes barely focussing, the blue of his irises only a small ring around his blown pupils, but you know he hasn’t taken anything since the lot of you went on stage. You wrap your hands around his waist, keeping him upright so you can watch him properly. He looks utterly debauched with his swollen lips parted and his flushed face, sweaty temples, lashes sticking together with sweat, looks almost in trance, the way he stares at you with glazed eyes. The neck of the sweater hangs off his shoulder, exposing his pale skin. The oversized garment makes him look so skinny and vulnerable in the dim light, looking nothing like the boy he was on stage, making all the girls gawk at him, nothing like the self-assured boy who spread his legs for you with all the lads around.  
  
  
As much as you loathe yourself for your jealousy, Liam fucking thrives on it, fucking loves how possessive you can get. He knows he doesn’t even have to flirt with all them birds to have your attention, knows your eyes are on him as soon as they walk up to him. Worst of all, though, worse than all them goddamn birds with their painted faces and their fake tits, touching him oh so innocently with their sly fingers, are the tall, good-looking queer lads who try to chat him up, _So you’re the singer in a band, pretty boy? Bet you’re so good with your mouth_. You’d punched that one in the face so hard it left your knuckles aching for days, and Liam had taken your hand in his, kissing your sore fingers, and said _God, Noel, you didn’t have to smash his face for me_ , but you could tell he was fucking thrilled that you had.  
  
  
You’re a hopeless, helpless mess, the both of you, but it’s all your fault and all you can do to make it up to him is give him what he wants.  
  
  
You lean in and press open-mouthed kisses to his cheekbone, along his jaw, then move down to his neck. You’ve got one hand twisted in the sleeve of his sweater and tug it down a little, stretching the neck, exposing more skin. You lick along his collarbone, down to his chest.  
  
  
“Wanna see your tits,” you murmur as you lean back, satisfaction spreading through you as he swallows hard and averts his eyes, eyelashes fluttering, his pulse visibly hammering in his neck.  
  
  
“ _Noel_ ,” he mutters in a weak protest, fidgeting with the hem of the sweater as he keeps looking down. You slide your hands up his flat chest, cupping his little nothing-tits through the fabric of the sweater.  
  
  
“Come on, baby, don’t be shy,” you murmur, “show me your pretty little tits.”  
  
  
Liam tugs his sweater up a little at the side, exposing his waist, making sure he keeps his dick more or less covered. “That’s it,” you murmur, pushing your hands under the sweater, “that’s a good girl.” Liam throws his head back as if he just can’t look at you, making soft little noises while he twists his fingers into your shirt. His skin burns under your palms as you press them to his chest, feeling nothing but sweaty-hot skin and flat muscle.  
  
  
You could’ve made him wear a bra, a small, padded pretty thing that would’ve given him just a hint of breast. You only would’ve had to ask. He’d be a little embarrassed, more than a little uncomfortable, writhing under your gaze, and just the thought of it has you leaking in your pants.  
  
  
Part of you regrets that you haven’t thought this out, that you’ve missed the perfect opportunity to make him wear a bra, but you don’t even need him to— he’s already perfect like this, fucking prettiest boy you’ve ever seen, so goddamn beautiful he could get anyone he wanted, and yet here he is, with you, sitting on your lap like a shy little girl.  
  
  
“Fuckin’ sweet little tits you have,” you breathe as you rub your thumbs over his hard nipples. Liam’s fucking squirming on your lap, hiding his face in the crook of your neck again as he clutches his hands tighter into your shirt, making your chest swell with some sick mix of pride and power.  
  
  
“You want me to fuck you, pretty baby?” you murmur in his ear as you slide your hands down his back, resting them on the swell of his arse.  
  
  
Liam nods fervently as he rubs his arse back against you, hips moving in sweet little circles. He’s just as hard as you are, his dick rubbing against your stomach, leaking precome through the fabric of the sweater. It’s tempting to pull the sweater up and wrap a hand around his dick, jerk him a little, feel him grow even harder in your palm, but you decide against it, wanting to push him a little further. Instead, you tug the sweater up at the back so you’ve got his arse completely exposed again. Liam’s breathing hotly against your neck, his open mouth leaving streaks of saliva across your skin as you dip a finger between his cheeks.  
  
  
“Want my dick inside you?” you murmur, rubbing your index finger over his hole, “need me to fuck your little cunt?” You’re trying not to show how much it thrills you to have him writhing in your lap, but he can probably tell from the way your breathing’s speeding up and how goddamn hard you are in your trousers, your body giving away just how bad you want to see him all messed up, how bad you need him to give in, to have him all submissive and perfectly obedient.  
  
  
“ _Noel_ ,” Liam gasps, “ _fuck_ , Noel.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” you breathe, “gonna fuck your tight little cunt, baby girl.”  
  
  
You’re sure you could make him come like this, letting him rut against you while you whisper all kinds of filth in his ear, make him come without even touching his dick. You used to rub off against each other all the fucking time back when Liam was still so young, only just discovering how good touching his dick could make him feel, how good _you_ could make him feel. He would climb into your bed late at night and you’d hold him close and kiss him softly while the two of you would rut against each other until your pyjama pants were sticky. He would nuzzle against your chest afterwards and fall asleep with a sated, sweet smile on his lips. You would lie awake while the voices in your head became louder and louder, screaming _he was your pure little angel and you’ve ruined him.  
  
  
_ Liam’s still moaning as he rubs against you with his sweaty face buried in the crook of your neck, and as much as you love to have him all shy and sweet in your lap, you need to see his eyes. You place a hand under his chin and tip his head up, making him look at you. His eyes are half-closed, hazy, and he looks so far gone, so dazed and bewildered it makes your heart ache. You want to pull him to your chest, tuck him in and keep him safe, shielding him away from the world, but some dark, disturbing part of you wants to push him just that little bit further, see how far you can go, how far he’s willing to let you take it.   
  
  
You clutch a hand in his hair and pull his head back a little, licking along his full lower lip and into his open mouth possessively. He lips are red and swollen and he tastes so fucking sweet, reminding you of cherries, strawberries, grapes, raspberries, any reddish, ripe fruit you’ve ever eaten. You could never get enough. Liam whimpers into your mouth, filling your lungs with the sickest desire, wanting more and more and he _gives_ it to you, gives you everything, anything you want, and you feel as if you’re drowning in it and you’ve got to pull away, get a grip on yourself before you lose yourself completely.   
  
  
“Gotta get you wet for me,” you say hoarsely, needing to keep reminding him and yourself who’s in charge.   
  
  
You’ve got to fetch the lube from your suitcase eventually, but spit will do just fine opening him up. You bring your index and middle finger up to his mouth, pushing them past his shiny wet lips. Liam takes them easily, sucks on them fervently before you pull them back and rub them over his hole, getting him all wet and slick. You’re too goddamn worked up by now to go slow and you push both fingers in greedily, knowing he can take them.  
  
  
Liam immediately rocks back against your hand, panting softly. His hands are on your shoulders and you vaguely feel his dull nails digging through your shirt, into your skin. You kiss his neck while you keep fingering him, making his head loll to the side, eyes falling shut.  
  
  
When he’s a little looser, you pull your fingers out, spit on them and push three back in. You spread your legs a bit wider to give yourself better access, pushing your fingers in as far as they can go, the ring on your finger pressed to his stretched rim. Liam’s clutching at your shoulders, moaning so prettily, his fingers going slack against your shoulder as you curl yours inside him.  
  
  
“Gonna fuck you,” you grit out, your dick straining against the fabric of your briefs and trousers, pulsing under the weight of your little brother, twitching at the needy little noises he makes. “You ready to take my cock, baby girl?”  
  
  
“Please,” Liam hisses breathlessly, “fuck me, Noel, just— fuck my cunt.”  
  
  
He gasps so prettily as you push your fingers in as deep as you can before you pull them out, then sighs softly at the loss of them.  
  
  
“Up you get,” you say, wiping your fingers on your trousers. Liam pushes himself off of you and gets up on unsteady legs. You stand up as well, adjusting your cock in your trousers to ease the pressure a little. Liam eyes you greedily from under his thick lashes, lips slightly parted.  
  
  
“Wanna see your dick,” he murmurs, then promptly drops to his knees in front of you. He nuzzles against your thigh, his open mouth wetting the fabric of your trousers. You tend to keep your clothes on a little longer than he does most of the time, love to be still fully clothed while he’s stark naked, making him look so exposed, so fragile. Liam’s nuzzling your crotch now and you wind a hand in his hair, not pushing him closer or pulling him away, just to have something to hold on to, needing to steady yourself a little as he rubs his cheek against your rock hard dick.   
  
  
“Fuck, kid,” you hiss through your teeth, unable to stick to the unfamiliar pet names. You’re trying not to clutch you fingers in his hair too tight but you’re too fucking worked up to take it easy. Liam leans back a little and unbuckles your belt with greedy little fingers. He tugs your trousers and underwear down, his tongue peeking out at the sight of your hard dick.  
  
  
You bite the insides of your cheeks as he leans in and takes your dick into his mouth, trying to keep your hips still so you won’t make him fucking choke on it, but it’s damn hard not to with his mouth so hot and velvet-soft around your dick. He swallows you down easily, moaning like a goddamn slag. He’s better than most birds and he fucking knows it, eyes gleaming with pride as he looks up at you, lips stretched wide around your cock.  
  
  
You’ve never felt more alive and closer to death all at once.  
  
  
“That’s a good girl,” you grit out, definitely grabbing his hair too tight now, Liam’s eyes fluttering closed as he keeps taking you all the way down his throat, breathing hard through his nose, so eager to please you it makes your stomach clench and your chest feel too tight. You cup his jaw instead, needing him to pull off before you come down his throat.  
  
  
“That’s enough,” you blurt, your voice coming out all wretched and pathetic, “wanna fuck your tight little cunt.”  
  
  
He swallows you right down once more before he pulls off, lips all shiny and pink. You pull him up and on his feet, fist a hand in his sweater and pull him in, making him moan into your mouth as you kiss and lick all the spit from his lips.  
  
  
“Come on, show me that sweet cunt,” you grit out as you pull away, trying to regain control, but you’re fucking losing it, your little brother looking so utterly debauched, so goddamn willing to take whatever you’ve got to give him.  
  
  
You guide him over to the bed and prop him up on his hands and knees. He usually spreads his thighs a little when you get him on all fours, obscene and shameless, but he presses them together now, cups his dick and balls and draws them forward, keeping them out of your sight as if it would ruin the illusion. It makes your stomach lurch with anticipation and a twinge of guilt.  
  
  
You tear your eyes away from his body and dig up the lube from your suitcase. You quickly strip out of your clothes, then get behind him on the bed. His head hangs low between his shoulders and he’s arched his back, hips canted, arse up in the air. The sweater’s rucked up a little, exposing the skin where the tops of his thighs meet the curve of his arse. You lean over him and press a quick kiss to the nape of his neck before you push the hem of the sweater up higher. You put your hands on his cheeks and spread them a little, slowly rubbing your thumb over his tight hole.   
  
  
“Fuckin’ sweet little cunt you’ve got,” you breathe as you push the tip of your thumb inside. Liam squirms a little, thighs quivering. You drizzle some lube on your fingers and sink them inside, slicking him up.  
  
  
“Noel, c’mon, want your dick,” Liam whines, his fingers tightening in the sheets, cheek rubbing against the pillow as he rocks back against your hand. You pull your fingers out and smear the rest of the lube around your cock. You place one hand on his arse, spreading his cheeks a little, then wrap your other hand around your dick and slowly push inside.  
  
  
He’s so goddamn tight, he always is, the restraint you feel as you push into him never fails to make your head spin with want and shame, fucking always reminding you that you’re not supposed to shag your little brother. It’s better afterwards, when he’s loose and wet with lube, spit and come and you can sink your fingers right back in so easily as if he were a girl.  
  
  
“Goddamnit,” you groan, gripping his hips, “fuckin’ tight little cunt, _fuck_.”  
  
  
Liam’s moaning ceaselessly as you fuck him, eagerly trying to push back against your thrusts. He’s still got his thighs firmly pressed together and his back arched, his waist looking so slim, but his moans are lower now, sounding nothing like a girl’s. He still looks so fucking pretty though, so goddamn perfect with his fluttering eyelashes and his pink, parted lips, with sweaty strands of hair clinging to his temples and his neck as he buries the side of his face into the pillow.  
  
  
“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” you grit out as you keep thrusting into him, barely able to think straight, to keep up the talking, “my perfect little bitch—”  
  
  
Liam turns his face into the pillow, smothering his moans, and some part of you balks. You need to see his face, need to make sure he’s still okay with this. You used to be so careful with him when he was younger, making sure he was dressed up warmly when you took him outside, tying his shoelaces in firm knots so he wouldn’t trip over them, always too goddamn overprotective. You used to treat him like porcelain, always asking _‘s okay if I touch you here, kid? Tell me if you want me to stop_ and only after he’d assured you about a hundred times that he wanted it too, you would take it a bit further.  
  
  
You’re a little more reckless these days but seeing him so gone, so vulnerable, without being able to see his eyes snaps you out of your haze. He can act all tough and bold, always spurring you on, begging for more, working you up, taking it to the edge, but you know the boy behind the facade better than anyone, and you know you could break him if you’re not careful enough, only ever one reckless move away from taking it too far. There is a line that can be crossed, there are things you could ask from him that he could never give to you, not even if he wanted to, and you know it would feel like failing to him, the boy who’s always so eager to please. He’d hate to be unable to be enough for you, and all you can do is restrain yourself from asking too much of him.  
  
  
“Liam,” you murmur, the first time tonight that you’re actually calling him by his name, but it feels good on your tongue, familiar. “Liam, need to see your face, kid, just—” You slowly pull out of him, then turn him over. Liam goes easily, almost boneless under your hands, his legs falling open. The sweater’s bunched up around his waist and his hands fly to his crotch, cupping his dick and balls to hide them from your sight, as if it would put you off.  
  
  
God, you’ve pushed him far. You don’t need him to hide his masculinity— he can close a hand over his dick, wear his sweater like a dress, bite his lips until they’re lipstick-red and moan all high-pitched but you still see it in his broad shoulders, his flat chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard, the way he _moves_ , inelegant and boy-like and so unmistakably _him_. He’s not a girl, far from it, and you don’t need him to be. You never wanted him to be, not even back when you used to dress him up, it’s just that maybe back then you’d been able to pretend it wasn’t so bad if he were a girl, that being in love with your little sister wouldn’t be as bad as being in love with your brother.  
  
  
“Wanna see you,” you murmur, placing your hand on his and tugging it away from his cock. He squirms a little, cheeks flushing again as you expose his rock-hard, leaking dick, looking up at you through heavy-lidded, unsure eyes.  
  
  
“Wanna be good for you,” Liam whimpers, high-pitched and helpless, and something inside you cracks— you’d fucking wanted to have him all pliable and submissive, fucking always needing to have the upper hand, but what kills you is the thought that he’d let you, do everything you’d ask him to— he would shave for you, paint his face and wear lacy knickers, you’d only have to ask and he would do it. He would follow you every path you’d lead him down. It’s a goddamn unhealthy relationship the two of you have— Liam willing to give himself to you completely, blindly, and you _wanting_ that from him, _needing_ him to trust you completely.  
  
  
He was only fifteen when you first fucked him. He’d wanted you to, he’d reassured you a thousand times, and in the end you hadn’t been able to wait any longer. You thought you were being careful enough, the way Liam kept asking you to keep going even though he had felt so goddamn tight around you, but when you pulled out, you’d seen that he’d bled a little, and only then you had noticed the tears in the corners of his eyes.  
  
  
It still makes your stomach turn and your cheeks heat up in shame thinking back to it, how you’d been too goddamn eager to fuck your baby brother to make sure he’d be all right, too fucking blind back then to see that he wants to be so good for you, that he’d do anything you’d ask him to, so, so desperate to feel admired, wanted, _loved_. You never, _never_ meant to hurt him, but only then you realised he would never tell you if you would.  
  
  
“Need to see you, Liam, just you,” you say, voice hoarse. You push up the sweater, exposing his stomach, the light dusting of hair on his flat chest. “C’mon, take it off, take it fuckin’ off,” you grit out, and Liam raises his arms, lets you pull the sweater over his head and toss it away to where his tambourine lies forgotten in a corner. You lean in and kiss his neck as you wrap a hand around his dick. Liam shudders at the contact, eyes firmly closed as you stroke him.  
  
  
“Look at me,” you say, even though you hate how pathetic your voice sounds, “need to see your eyes, kid, please.”  
  
  
You need to get him away from the darkness you’re steering the both of you towards. He’d do anything for you, and as much as it thrills you, it’s also fucking terrifying because it brings you so, so close to taking it too far, to damaging your baby brother. You’re always trying to protect him as best as you can but you’re afraid you won’t be able to protect him from yourself, afraid one day you’ll take it too far, ask too much of him, and he won’t tell you and give in anyway, his desire to please you a bottomless pit, swallowing the both of you. You’ll break his trust and you wouldn’t even know until it’s too late, until you see those tears again. The fear is always there, just below the surface, like a pilot light burning in the back of your mind and you can only hope it’ll be enough to keep you from damaging him beyond repair.  
  
  
You place your hands on his inner thighs, softly rubbing soothing circles into his skin, just as much to calm yourself as to assure him. Liam looks at you, then, eyes still hazy, but they focus on yours long enough to reassure you. You lean in and kiss him on his open mouth, then rest your forehead against his for a moment.  
  
  
“Noel,” Liam whispers, breath hot against your face, “Noel, ‘s okay. Fuck me, please?”  
  
  
You press a kiss to his cheekbone, then spread his thighs wider. You dribble some more lube onto your cock, carefully watching his face as you push back in. Liam’s trying to keep looking at you, but his eyes flutter close as you bury yourself deep inside him. He’s still not touching himself, trying to drag it out, fingers twisted into the sheets, his rock hard dick curved up against his belly, leaking precome across his skin. You’re trying to hold back, to make it last for him, but there’s no way you can last much longer, not when he’s clenching around you like that and moaning your name like you’re all he’ll ever need.  
  
  
“Fuck me harder,” Liam blabbers, looking up at you through glazed eyes, “c’mon, Noel, show me I’m yours,” and you feel feverish, your head spinning with affection and desire and love for your baby brother. He keeps whining your name the way he used to when he was still a child, his voice as tiny and fragile as it sounded when he used to have nightmares, asking if he could sleep with you; when he would trip over his own small feet and ask you for a kiss to soothe the pain; when your father had found out you’d taken him for a walk around town dressed like a little girl and he crawled into your bed at night, whispering, _please, don’t be mad, Noel, I’m so sorry_ , softly pressing his tiny hands to your bruises in an attempt to soothe the pain—  
  
  
It still had been so innocent back then, no matter what your father might’ve thought. You’d only messed it up after the lot of you had left him. You should’ve taken his place, be more like a father to Liam, or at least a proper brother, but instead, you’d fucked it all up. There are days when you can hardly look at yourself in the mirror, when you can only think _I started this when he was still a child, I took his innocence and ruined his pure soul.  
  
__  
You_ were still a kid back then, Liam keeps reminding you, but you’d always, _always_ known that you weren’t supposed to kiss your brother, not like that, but it had never stopped you. Regardless of what he says now, you failed to be a responsible older brother, that first time and all the times after, up to today. Liam tells you it’s all right, that he’s never, _never_ felt coerced by you, how much he liked you nurturing him, how happy he felt when you would kiss him, but still, he was so fucking young, he trusted you and looked up to you. He wanted to be just like you, he was always looking for your approval, your affection, and you gave him everything you had, showering him in praise and kisses, telling him how proud you were that he was your baby brother, but you hadn’t been able to restrain yourself back then, and you’re not strong enough to call it quits now.  
  
  
You can’t go back to normal. It’s too late now— you can hardly live with the knowledge that you’ve raised him wrong, ruined your little brother, that he wants all these sick, fucked up things because of you, but there’s no way you could be normal brothers, not when you know what it feels like to kiss him, how it feels to push inside him, not when you know exactly what he looks like when he comes, your name rolling from his tongue.  
  
  
Liam’s still moaning your name like an innocent little kid and you feel like either crying or laughing hysterically, _we’re all mad here_ — _you_ are, at least, mad as a fucking hatter, but at least the Hatter always was a proper gentleman to Alice. No good will ever come from this, you’re too damn gone on your brother to do what’s best for him, all you’re good for is messing with his head, fucking him up, give him some poor substitute for brotherly love.   
  
  
“God, Liam,” you pant as you keep thrusting into him relentlessly, “you do know I love you, right, need you to know, kid, I fuckin’ mean it—”  
  
  
“Noel,” Liam gasps, looking at you through hazy eyes before his eyes flutter closed again. You wrap a hand around his neglected cock and this time he lets you. He’s fucking throbbing in your hand and shaking underneath your body, arching into your uncontrolled thrusts, and then he’s coming, pulsing wet and hot all over your fist, and you can only follow, spilling deep inside him as he clenches around you.  
  
  
You try to ride it out a little, but you feel as if all the energy had been drained from your body. You pull out slowly, watching your some of your come dribbling out of your baby brother as you try not to make him wince.  
  
  
You lie down next to him, still trying to catch your breath. It dawns on you that you’ve not only been pushing _him_ — you’ve been chasing each other down the goddamn rabbit hole all night, falling and falling with no hope of ever reaching Wonderland, that’s not where you belong, the two of you too fucked up, too mad even for a world like that.  
  
  
Liam grabs your shoulders, pulls you closer, and you try to hold him back but you’re too exhausted to keep up resistance like you normally would. You let him wrap his arms around you and pull you in, but your whole body is tense as you keep your palms pressed to his chest, leaving a little space between the two of you. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is exposed, can’t let him come any closer, not without baring your soul completely.  
  
  
“‘s okay,” Liam mutters, fingers running through your hair, “don’t always gotta be so tough, y’know.” His bright eyes are looking right through you as you look up to him and it takes everything you have not to look away. There’s strength in showing weakness, Liam reminds you sometimes, but you don’t master it nearly as well as he does.  
  
  
“Gotta let go a little,” Liam says, sounding calm and composed, surer than you’ve felt all night. At least he’s okay, you’ve only been driving yourself over the edge, you’re the only one about to fall apart at the seams.  
  
  
He pulls you closer and you give in, let him tuck your head under his chin. You listen to the sound of his heart beating in his chest, steady and sure like the way he shakes his tambourine, and slowly, one beat at a time, you let yourself unravel in his arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm so fucking glad that I've finished this one, you have no idea. Thank you so much for your kudos and lovely comments, I never would've managed to finish this without your encouragement. Sorry for all the angst, I'm aware there were no signs of that in the first part I posted. These boys-- well, fuck, I really wanted to get into Noel's head like that, but I didn't think it would be the goddamn hardest thing I've ever written.
> 
> Also, the biggest inspiration for this fic, more than all the pretty-young-Liam-with-tambourine-photos was [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/876dc394e8c1a04d9ef38dcf4508e624/tumblr_p13qjijgc31vyjy3lo1_500.jpg) one. I mean, why is Noel dressed in summer clothes while Liam's dressed as if it's fucking freezing? And the way Noel's possessive little hand lingers on Liam's knee, well, fuck.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, I'd really love to hear your thoughts! You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.saintedevote.tumblr.com) as well :)


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